


Slow Road

by Definitely_Lost



Category: Cursed (TV 2020)
Genre: I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm bad at tags, Lancelot is a dad, One Shot, Other, Squirrel is adorable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:00:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25620997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Definitely_Lost/pseuds/Definitely_Lost
Summary: Squirrel knows that Lancelot desperately needs a healer, but getting one to help them poses some difficulties.
Relationships: Squirrel | Percival & The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 186





	Slow Road

**Author's Note:**

> I had to contribute something to the fandom

The horse’s hooves ambled along the dirt road slowly, the two people atop it staring forward solemnly. Squirrel refused to stop, not to get food or find water or even to get off the horse and give his sore bum a short rest. He knew that any time wasted for things like that was time that the monk behind him continued to bleed, and he didn’t know how much blood the man even had left. 

“How much blood is in the body, anyway? You’re probably banged up pretty bad, so I’m guessing you’re bleeding pretty fast. I used to have healer friends in my village, they would know what to do with you. But you’re stuck with me, so no point in wishing you were with them instead.” Squirrel had been talking nonstop for most of the ride, uncomfortable in the awkward silence that had previously been hanging in the air. The monk hadn’t said a word for a good few hours. 

He felt the man’s arm tighten around his small waist as he slipped a bit from the large saddle. Although he appreciated the gesture, and was glad to have the support to keep him on the horse, he knew he could probably balance by himself if he didn’t have the weight of the monk leaning on his back just to stay sitting upright. 

_Not ‘the monk’_ , Squirrel reminded himself once again. _His name is Lancelot. He’s not with the Paladins any more._ Squirrel might have been young, but he liked to think his mind was ahead of his years. He knew the turmoil that was probably going on inside Lancelot’s head, having betrayed and abandoned the only home he’d known for years. 

“Actually, now that I think about it, we should probably find you a healer,” Squirrel said. “I’m not professional but I can guess you’re not going to heal naturally from being hit in the face with a bludgeon or whatever weapons those creeps used.” 

“Follow this road to the nearest town,” Lancelot whispered weakly. “It shouldn’t be far from here.” 

Squirrel did as he said, blabbering about different weapons and other strange things he’d seen in the paladin camp. Lancelot listened silently. Actually, Squirrel couldn’t tell if he’d passed out or not. He figured it was definitely possible with the amount he’d been bleeding. 

When the towering walls of the town appeared on the horizon, Squirrel perked up a bit. Goliath, at the prospect of rest and food, also seemed to speed up, Squirrel and Lancelot bouncing on her back. 

Lancelot stirred when the sounds of bustling humans became loud enough to understand. He pulled his hood back on and put a hand on the hilt of his sword. Squirrel felt him straighten up a bit behind him, grunting in pain but trying to hide his injuries. 

An armed man standing in front of the gates held his hand out to halt the pair. “State your business in Ribury.” He looked bored. 

Squirrel opened his mouth to lie his way out of the situation (something he was used to doing and was really quite good at), but before he could even begin to talk Lancelot simply said quietly, “Our business is none of yours.” His hand tightened around his sword and turned his head to meet the man’s eyes. 

The man took a frightened step backwards, recognizing Lancelot’s tear streaked face and hood. Fear filled his eyes. “O-Of course not. Please, um, proceed.” He waved them through the gates. The people inside the town averted their eyes, choosing instead to look at the cobbled ground. 

Lancelot shifted behind Squirrel, trying to dismount the horse in as little pain as possible. However, due the severity of his injuries, he faltered and slipped. His feet gave way underneath him and he landed on a heap on the ground. Whispers made their way through the crowd, none distinguishable to Squirrel’s ears. Lancelot tried to stand again, grunting in pain. 

Squirrel slid off the saddle, too short to properly dismount from such a tall horse. He grabbed the monk’s arm and used what strength he had in his small body to haul him to his feet. Lancelot leaned into him, somehow finding the resolve to stand straight and recenter his weight to lean on Goliath, who was plenty strong enough to support his weight. Squirrel watched him walk shakily, parting the crowd like waves. He wondered briefly if he was supposed to follow or not, but made up his mind that he was much safer travelling with Lancelot than all by himself. He had to walk briskly to keep up with Lancelot’s large strides, but it wasn’t too difficult. 

He caught several people giving Lancelot dirty looks, ones of fear or hate or disgust. Squirrel doubted word of what had happened in the paladin camp had reached this far already, but that almost made it worse. These people hated Lancelot simply from what they’d heard of him. Squirrel knew that he had once felt exactly the same, but that was before Lancelot had saved his life and betrayed the paladins. Now, he felt oddly offended on Lancelot’s behalf. 

One woman who must have been feeling particularly brave actually spat at Lancelot’s feet as he walked. The hooded man simply stopped to meet the woman’s eyes, and he must have looked very intimidating because she shrank back. Lancelot continued walking. Squirrel, trailing his footsteps, walked backwards for a small bit to maintain eye contact with the woman. He pointed two fingers at his own eyes and then jabbed them back at her. Normally when he did that he was brushed off as being immature, but travelling with a scary person must have made some difference since the woman actually looked afraid for a minute before disappearing back into the crowd. 

Lancelot walked until they reached a small, quaint building tucked in a corner of town. He pushed through the door without knocking, leaving Goliath outside. Squirrel gave the mare a quick pat and followed Lancelot inside. 

It was dimly lit, the walls lined with bottles and poultices. It must have been a healer’s hut. _Oh, well, duh_ , Squirrel thought. _As if we were going to go shopping before treating his injuries_. 

While in the eyes of the crowd Squirrel had fallen silent, but now that they were safely alone he felt free to open his mouth again. “What are we doing, huh? Do you know how to treat yourself? Are we just going to take the stuff in here, because I don’t see anyone but I suppose there are multiple rooms so I guess we’re just going to wait for someone. How are we going to pay them since we don’t have any money?” 

Lancelot held up a hand to silence the boy. “The healer will come back shortly. Let me do the talking.” 

Squirrel did as he said, seating himself in one of the wooden chairs. As Lancelot had said, the healer, a short pudgy man, soon entered from a separate room. He looked up from the bowl he was mixing to meet the famous eyes of the Weeping Monk. He almost fell over. “Oh my Lord! Oh, my, um… I haven’t been hiding or treating Fey I swear-” 

Lancelot took down his hood, exposing his bloodied face. “Can you heal this?” His hand was on his sword hilt again, something Squirrel noticed he did when he wanted to scare someone into doing what he wanted. 

The healer examined him quickly, breathing shakily. “Yes, yes, it’s quite treatable, I’ll just get some water and be right back-” 

Lancelot dismissed him, clearly content with that answer. The healer rushed out the door, an empty bucket in his hands. 

“You can’t just do that,” Squirrel said once he was gone. 

Lancelot looked at him. “Do what?”

“You can’t just go around scaring people into giving you what you want.” 

“It’s effective.” 

“It’s _mean_. It’s no wonder no one likes you if you’re always threatening them with imminent death or the loss of fingers if they don’t do what you want.” 

Lancelot met his eyes. “And you have a better way of getting things when neither of us can pay for them?” 

Squirrel thought for a moment. “In my village, we always used to say kindness was the best way to go about life. We said that if you were kind to people then people would be kind to you. You should try being kind, then maybe people would be less afraid of you.” 

Lancelot sat down on the table and pressed a hand to his ribs, a thoughtful look in his eye. 

The healer returned with his bucket full of water, and he quickly set to work on Lancelot’s arms and wrists, where chains had cut into his skin and left red slits and welts. Lancelot winced subtly as the healer wrapped them in cloth bandages and tightened them around his wrist. The healer’s hands shook, which probably meant he was being a little more careless than he usually was. Squirrel saw the fear still in his eyes from being in such close proximity to the Weeping Monk. If he carried on like this, Lancelot would be killed from his circulation being cut off rather than any of his injuries. 

“You don’t have to be scared of him, you know,” Squirrel said. Lancelot shot him a look that was probably meant to silence him, but Squirrel had received the look so many times he was immune. “He’s not that bad.” 

Squirrel danced up to be at Lancelot’s side. The healer gave him a warning look, seemingly saying, ‘Don’t test this guy, kid, he’s not one to mess with.’ Squirrel didn’t care. He wasn’t afraid. He lifted his hand and used his index finger to poke Lancelot’s cheek. 

Lancelot gave him an exasperated look, but Squirrel just smiled innocently at him. “See? He’s not so scary. He didn’t chop my fingers off or anything.” 

The healer gave Squirrel a small and quick smile, which looked a bit forced, honestly, but Squirrel noticed his hands trembled less and he was calmer than he had been. He continued to sew Lancelot back together, and slowly, the bleeding stopped. 

*** 

Walking away from the healer’s hut, Lancelot walked with less strain, and stood a little straighter. The sun had set and the streets were dimly lit by torches and light from open windows. Squirrel still had to walk briskly to keep up with the tall man, but Lancelot walked slowly on purpose to allow him to walk next to the child. 

Squirrel’s stomach, which he’d been doing his best to ignore for the past few hours, let out a loud grumble. Lancelot stopped in his tracks to look down at the boy. “You are hungry.” 

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Squirrel quipped. He pressed a hand to his stomach and kept walking. “Anyway, it’s fine. We should keep going before some paladins come to town looking for you-” 

Lancelot grabbed him by the back of his shirt to keep him still. “You need food.” He dug through the saddlebags on Goliath, but to Squirrel’s dismay his hands came up empty. His eyes held a sad look. “I am sorry, Percival. I don’t have any food for you.” 

Squirrel scanned the dark streets until his gaze landed on a barred-up stall. The sign read ‘Fresh Produce’. “You know what? I might have an idea.” 

Squirrel pranced over to the door of the stall. It was locked and the windows were boarded with wood, but the lock over one of the windows was a fairly common one that Squirrel was quite familiar with. He picked up a discarded nail from the ground and began to pick the lock. 

Lancelot came up behind him, still leading Goliath. He leaned over Squirrel’s shoulder to watch. “So much for kindness is repaid with kindness,” he said with a quiet mirth. 

“Well…” Squirrel shrugged sheepishly as the lock fell to the ground. “At least I’m not threatening anyone with a sword.” He pulled the gate open and crawled inside. 

Lancelot waited outside, not being small enough to fit in through the window. Squirrel emerged soon after holding an apple and a loaf of bread. He held out both to Lancelot, who opted for the fruit and left the baked loaf for Squirrel. They left the stall behind and sat next to each other on a bench not far away. 

Squirrel ate the bread aggressively, tearing into it like it had insulted him. Lancelot, on the other hand, ate quietly and in small bites. When they’d finished their respective snacks, they sat for a little while longer, uneager to resume their taxing journey to nowhere. 

“So what do we do now?” Squirrel asked. “I don’t know where to take you. I think the Fey were leaving, but the Green Knight and I left before any solid decisions were made.” He shivered in the cold night air, though he tried to hide it. 

He must have failed, because Lancelot opened his cloak. Squirrel took it gratefully and wrapped himself in the black fabric. “The Green Knight,” Lancelot whispered. “I am sorry about what happened to him.” 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Squirrel assured him. 

“It might as well have been. I brought him to the paladin camp. I left him to die there.” 

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Squirred said rather feebly. He knew that kidnapping and murder were hardly silly mistakes, but he didn’t want Lancelot to feel bad about something he’d done when he’d still been the Weeping Monk. 

“I suppose we can only pray that the Fey left some trail for others of their kind to read,” Lancelot said finally. “We look for a sign and follow it. Perhaps it will lead us to your friends. You can stay with them, and I will continue alone.” 

“No!” Squirrel said loudly. “You should come with us! The Green Knight said all Fey are brothers. You belong with us.” 

“Your people will not accept me.” 

Squirrel puffed out his chest. “I’ll make them. They all positively adore me, and they’ll listen when I tell them what you did.” 

Lancelot smiled weakly. “Thank you, but I don’t think it will excuse everything I’ve done.” 

When Squirrel had had enough of Lancelot’s wallowing, he got up and grabbed Lancelot’s arm, dragging him to his feet as well. “We can agree that I’m right on the way there. Let’s go.” 

They mounted Goliath again and left Ribury behind. 


End file.
